


This is not goodbye

by thedaughterofkings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, post-3B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 09:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4740650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedaughterofkings/pseuds/thedaughterofkings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has been gone for three weeks. And Stiles doesn’t miss him. No, sir, not at all. Who’d miss snarky assholes who wear scarves even when it’s fifty million degrees outside. Certainly not Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is not goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> This was written way back when for the Stisaacweek 2014 and posted on [my tumblr](http://thedaughterofkings.tumblr.com/post/91779498016/this-is-not-goodbye). The theme for that monday was "Goodbyes" and as the title already shows I totally chickened out. 
> 
> Beta-read by the lovely [Larissa](http://www.ohfuckthisshit.tumblr.com)!

He has been gone for three weeks. And Stiles doesn’t miss him. No, sir, not at all. Who’d miss snarky assholes who wear scarves even when it’s fifty million degrees outside. 

Certainly not Stiles. 

Which is why it makes absolutely no sense at all that he starts not-screaming at Lydia when she mentions off-handedly that Jackson said he was going to visit him later that summer. 

He quickly calms down – at least on the outside – when Lydia just raises an eyebrow at his outburst and refuses to say anything else until he is no longer talking in a pitch that “only bats can hear.”

Stiles exaggeratedly zips his mouth shut and promptly undoes all of his efforts when he yelps out “WHAT?!” – he doesn’t screech, don’t listen to Lydia – at Lydia’s next words. 

“Could you repeat that?! I’m sure I just misunderstood the first time because you can’t be   
serious!”

“You’ll just have to come to Europe with me in August; we can both see our boyfriends then. Jackson’s parents are already paying for my trip, so my parents can well afford your tickets.”

“MY BOYFRIEND?! What are you even talking about?!”

Okay, he might be screeching now. But seriously, what – and who – does Lydia even mean? 

No, he doesn’t have any idea who it might be, thank you very much, voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Lydia. 

Who has just kept talking, apparently not caring a bit about the mild – mild – meltdown Stiles might be having right now. But seriously, boyfriend?

“We can just all go together to Paris; it’s going to be soooo romantic. Like one big double-date.”

“Lydia.” Stiles says very, very calmly. “I. Don’t. Have. A. Boyfriend.”

The smile he gets in return is the most condescending one he’s ever seen – and considering that all of his friends are sassy snarkmasters – except for Scott and Kira, bless their innocent souls – that really is saying something. He feels like a really dumb puppy that fell over its paws trying to chase its tail. 

“Oh, honey, I know.” Great, now she’s petting him. Stiles likes to think that it says a lot about his newly gained maturity that he isn’t already planning their wedding. Particularly the wedding night. “I promise you, it’s all going to work out just fine. Just think of his face when he sees you again after months apart.”

Lydia’s face is certainly dreamy. But yeah, that’s not the face he’d be faced with in the case of sneaky Europe visits. He’d be faced with a whole lot more raised eyebrow, smirk and cheekbone. Oh and curls, don’t forget the curls. They’d probably mock him as well. 

He doesn’t know how, but those curls would be able to express mockery. In fact, Stiles is sure they have already mocked him. 

And okay, apparently he’s already given up all pretense of not knowing whom Lydia is talking about. Thanks, brain. This is going to end in tears. Manly tears. Of heartbreak. 

 

\-----*-----*-----*-----*-----*-----

 

Yup, tears and heartbreak. He might even let Lydia put in The Notebook. 

Because here he is, one and half months later, standing beneath the Eiffel Tower – in Paris, France, not Paris, Texas, thank you very much – without ever consciously agreeing to this trip. Lydia can be one scary woman.

And what does he get? Certainly no love confession. He doesn’t even get a hug! Lydia got a hug! Jackson, Jackson got a hug!! Stiles gets raised eyebrows and smirks. Didn’t he say so? Perhaps he’s a seer. His powers of prediction are definitely far more accurate than Lydia’s feelings.

He throws his hands up in exasperation and turns around, saying: “Duuuude, I knew this was a terrible idea. It was founded on entirely wrong assumptions after all. I’m now going to get drunk on some of that wine France is known for.”

From behind him, that, that … smartass (yeah, not his best, but he’s working through jetlag here) pipes up: “Good luck with that, after all you are still under the legal drinking age!”

And no, Stiles does not imagine that emphasis on you. Just because he isn’t 18 yet like someone he doesn’t even want to know. No matter what Lydia says.

He whirls back around and is prepared to let loose an entire tirade – whatever about, he’s not picky. Instead, gravity gets the better of him and he slips and no amount of desperate flailing is going to stop him from smacking face first into the grass.

Being dipped like a damsel in distress works though.

Stiles’ arms have automatically come up around the shoulders that are holding him up and he’s staring into deep blue eyes that are staring right back into his.

“We’ll leave you two alone then! Have fun!” Lydia says somewhere to the right and … remarkably high up regarding her height.

“But not too much!”

Haha, Jackson, very funny. 

He focuses back on his savior – ugh, that’s physically painful to even think – and musters up the strongest glare he can manage. It apparently hasn’t gotten any more effective lately – he even practiced in the mirror – and he only gets a wink in return. 

The arms that are still keeping him, well not upright, but at least not entirely horizontal, slowly drag him upright again until they are standing nose to nose. 

“Here you go, milady.” Ugh, there’s that smirk again and a little bow, that brings them even closer together. They just stand there staring at each other for what feels like forever, but was probably less than a minute, until Stiles breaks. He smacks the shoulder he’d still been holding on to and then boxes into the other one for good measure.

Ouch, bad idea, he forgot all werewolves came with muscles of steel. He shakes out his hand and stares down at it, ducking his head until a finger slips under his chin and gently tilts his head back up. 

Stiles swallows and finally mumbles: “You didn’t say goodbye.”

Isaac smiles and answers, hand slipping around to cup Stiles’ cheek: “I didn’t want to. And I obviously didn’t need to.”


End file.
